Project: Infinitum
by layma
Summary: Clarke Griffin would do anything to escape her small town life in Arkenson, and all the whispers, rumors, and memories that surrounded her. The only good things left for her in her hometown are her friends, who have experienced their own up's and down's, and have survived the trials of teenagerdom together. But now the group is in for a whole new definition of the world survival.
1. Chapter 1: The Beginning

"Scientifically, I know beginnings don't exist. The world is made of energy, which is neither created or destroyed. Everything she is was here before me. Everything she was will remain. Her existence touches both my past and my future at one point- infinity. Lifelines aren't lines at all. They are more like circles. It's safe to start anywhere and the story will curve its way back to the starting point. Eventually. In other words, it doesn't matter where I begin. It doesn't change the end." -_**Shannon Lee Alexander**_

It was the end of the world, and Clarke was furious.

Alright, furious was probably an overstatement, but she was in the least very, really, and totally pissed. Why?

Bellamy freaking Blake.

It was his fault that she was sitting here, ever so uncomfortably, in the shitty plastic desks that the high school kindly supplied, for an extra two hours on a Friday. If he had just kept his big mouth shut and his smirk under wraps, she wouldn't be in this position, and neither would he. Nobody in his or her right mind would want to be locked up in a room tinier than a broom closet with four juvenile delinquents and the faint smell of baloney lingering in the air.

Clarke was one of those people who would literally choose anything other than this. There was a reason she hadn't

had detention in the three years she had gone to Arkenson High, a tiny little high school in a tiny little town located in

the middle of freaking nowhere. No matter how many times she shit-talked Arkenson, she didn't exactly hate the

place. It was her home, the only life she'd ever known, and while that made her just want to explore the world more

she knew that her roots would always be here. So no, she didn't hate Arkenson, she just really hated the people in Arkenson. The judgers, the hypocrites, and the pittiers.

While some of the best moments of her short, young life had happened her, some of the worst had as well. She liked to replay the good ones in her mind. Laughing at the fair with her dad, her first kiss, working in the hospital with her mom, camping with Wells, her first time, winning the spelling bee in 5th grade, her 13th birthday party. All the memories she kept close to her heart, the ones that she could look back on and smile. Those where the special things, the things she kept locked away and hidden from sight, just in case someone were to try and take them away.

And then there were the memories she bore like tattoos, the ones that wouldn't leave her no matter how hard she tried. She could accept that the past is the past, she could forgive the mistakes of others, but the facts never left her mind, nor the minds of others. Her father's agonizing death, the night she got a call from Captain Jaha because her mother had gotten drunk off her ass and couldn't make it home, and Finn.

_Finn._

The name didn't haunt her anymore, didn't make her hang her head in shame she shouldn't have to bear. She had come to terms that it wasn't her fault; the blame was his, but it took time to look into the eyes of the people who called her names behind her back with pitying glances and whispers. It was a natural reaction to avert her eyes, to ignore the truth, but over the past few months, with the help of Raven herself, they'd both found a way to cope and move on. Hand in hand, they had made it out of the events that had seemed to define them for a time. If Clarke was being completely honest with herself, she would admit that she probably wouldn't have made it out without Raven. And, of course, Octavia.

Octavia. She was a literal ray of sunshine. Well, a ray of sunshine with a hell of a personality. Clarke couldn't quite remember when she dubbed Octavia as her best friend; the girl had always been in Clarke's life. They had turned from next door neighbors, to playmates, to sisters, and Clarke couldn't remember a time when Octavia wasn't right next to her, wrecking havoc with a smile. She was the kind of girl that everyone either loved or hated, and if you claimed you hated her, you actually secretly loved her. Octavia had been the one to comfort her when her father passed when she was fourteen, just like Clarke had when Octavia's mother had died when they were only seven. Octavia was the one who helped her tuck in her mother after a late night at work and a late night at the bar. Octavia was the one who pushed her beyond her limits, gave her confidence until she found her own. Octavia was the glue between their little group of friends, made up of Jasper, Monty, Clarke, and the new addition of Raven. Octavia was a light.

Octavia was also the one making her phone buzz like a swarm of jacked up bees.

Octavia Sexypants: R U coming tonight?

Octavia Sexypants: U know that wasn't actually a ? right

Octavia Sexypants: Should I wear the blue or purple dress

Octavia Sexypants: Or both

Octavia Sexypants: I'm gonna wear the red one nvm

Octavia Sexypants: Hair straight or curled?

Octavia Sexypants: Or up?

Octavia Sexypants: You're right you're right straight I can pull it off I know

Octavia Sexypants: Hey you wanna get pancheros before we go

Octavia Sexypants: I know there'll probs be food there but u know how it is

Octavia Sexypants: ARE YOU GETTING THESE?

Octavia Sexypants: DONT IGNORE ME

Octavia Sexypants: REMEMBER I KNOW THE PASSWORD TO YOUR PASSWORD JOURNAL

Octavia Sexypants: shit srry forgot ur in detention

Octavia Sexypants: are you ever gonna get outta there

Octavia Sexypants: sneak out or something like 10 things i hate about u

Octavia Sexypants: FINE DONT

Octavia Sexypants: but at least whack bellamy for me

Clarke tried her best not to smile as she read the messages, but Octavia just made it so damn hard, even when Clarke was in one of her moods. That was today, another morning after for her mother and another morning of cleaning up after her for Clarke. She had made the fact clear that she just wanted to sleep and be left alone when she had sat down in first period Chemistry with Octavia, Raven, and Jasper. Raven just nodded and began talking about the homework from the night before while Jasper fiddled with a small contraption and cracked a few jokes, but Octavia, oh-so-much like her older brother, wouldn't stop prodding her until Clarke just gave her a "normal night" explanation and left it at that. Octavia knew; Octavia understood.

She had made it through Chemistry, AP Lit, Art 4, and even P.E. with hardly any talking or participation, something she usually did every other day of the week. People gave her a few strange glances, but mostly let her be. Though Clarke ignored it all, she was just looking forward to when the bell rang at 2 and she could hop in her car and just drive, but that meant she had to make it through history class first.

The class was a total of 24 students, and only 5 of them were girls. That meant Clarke's final class of the day was filled with 19 rowdy, unkempt, loud, and completely misogynistic teenage boys, with whom she had to sit for an hour and thirty minutes straight. Usually, she could make it through with a little help from the glances she and Monty exchanged during the lectures. That, and her daily battles with Bellamy Blake.

Bellamy had a thing for history, probably because his mother did too. He claimed it came naturally, but Clarke knew for a fact that he had checked out over a hundred different books from the library all ranging from the Roman Empire to 1800s London Women's Fashion. He was a nerd like that, which might surprise some people, especially when many thought he was an idiot because he had to repeat his junior year. People probably just assumed it was because he didn't try, but Clarke knew the truth that was kept behind her next door neighbors faded red door.

So it was no surprise when, halfway through the lesson on The 100 Year War, Bellamy leaned forward to whisper to Clarke, with that ever-present smirk on his face.

"He's wrong. It actually spanned from 1337 to 1453, not 1443." He looked at her, eyes gleaming, ready for her to argue, even if he was right.

Usually she would smirk right back, ready with a retort, but she wasn't feeling it, even if it was the one thing that made history bearable.

"The textbook said 1453, Bellamy, so maybe you're wrong," she said halfheartedly, although she knew that, to this date, he had never given her a wrong answer on any of their worksheets, and it was all off the top of his head.

He gave a snort. "The _textbook_," he breathed "says 1443. It's right here in black and white."

Clarke simply shrugged, locking eyes with Monty for the briefest second as he gave her a small smile.

Bellamy paused behind her. He could sense something was wrong in the way she slouched in her chair, shoulders bunched up, huddled into herself and not holding herself as if she were preparing for battle like every other day.

"Admit it, Princess, you're wrong." He moved closer, his cheek almost next to hers, his hand gripping the back of her chair. She felt her cheeks redden, and hours worth of frustration and 3 hours of sleep had bubbled to the surface. Something about Bellamy, no matter how patient he could be with Octavia, or how smart she knew he really was, or how determined he was when he put his mind to something, always made her want to break something. Yell, argue until she was red in the face, even if it would just end up with the two of them back at square one, arguing over something they both knew was right. And he was also totally infiltrating her personal bubble.

"Why can't you shut the fuck up for once?" she snapped—or, better yet, snarled.

She didn't even have time to process what she had said, or the look of hurt she could have sworn passed acrossed his face, before he broke out into a huge grin and let out a bark of laughter.

The room was quiet, and Clarke's heart was racing.

Then, one by one, the boys started to laugh, guffaw, or whatever it was boys did when they were met with disbelief. Clarke Griffin, straight A student, leader of the Art club, never late, never had a detention, and student of the month (or Miss November, as Octavia liked to call her) swore (more like shouted) in the middle of class, in front of one of the most conservative teachers in the school. She didn't even have to look at the teacher to know she had messed up. She had let Bellamy Blake get the better of her, and she was going to pay for it.

That's what had brought her here, to room 604, complete with the stuffy June air and the sound of the guy behind her snoring. She was angry, embarrassed, and just straight up tired. The good part? She'd brought Bellamy down with her.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2: **

It started with a strange sort of quiet. The_ tap tap tap_ of a pencil, the weak wheezing of the aging air conditioner desperately trying to blow tepid air throughout the small room, and the creaking of the shitty plastic seats all added to the _tick, tick, tick_ of the old clock overlooking the students with a disapproving look, refusing to speed up.

No one spoke, all either caught up in their own thoughts or sleeping, which was more likely. The silence was filled with all the sounds that made up what one would label normality. Clarke would look back on this day and remember it as the start of everything.

And the end of it all.

Clarke wasn't paying too much attention to what was going on around her, and instead opted to finish up some sketches as she waited for the two-hour detention to be over with.

Slowly, one by one, everything seemed to grow silent. First, it was the squeaky wheels of the janitors trolley that halted to a stop, then it was the snoring of some delinquent behind her, and, lastly, it was that God-awful air conditioner that, with a final sputter, gave its last burst of air and promptly died.

The heat of late May pressed in on them instantly, intertwining with the now palpable silence that stretched across the room. Clarke lifted her head from her crouched drawing position and cautiously looked around. Something felt off, that much was true. With furrowed brows, she glanced behind her and locked eyes with a guy sitting near the back of the room—Miller, she thought his name was. Their eyes met, and she felt a chill run all the way through her body.

Something was most definitely wrong.

Miller looked like a deer in the headlights, big eyes, slacked mouth and everything. Clarke followed his gaze around the room and through the window, only to be met with the sight of a burning church.

Clarke shot up, shoving her shitty plastic chair back and ran to the window, her eyes wide. She heard the distinct sound of someone being shaken awake as another student woke up. "Holy shit!" the girl exclaimed, and that was all it took.

(((In detention: bellamy, clarke, miller, monroe, harper, atom, roma, sterling)))

All eight students pressed up against the window and watched in horror across the road at the burning church.

Clarke was speechless. What were you supposed to do in a situation like that? Stepping back, she whipped out her cell phone and took a few steps further back. She stared at the keypad, trying to shake herself out of her shock. She glanced back at the burning church, with yellow and orange and red spilling out from it, and somehow the thought that she would have liked to painted that came to her mind just before the explosion.

It threw Clarke back into a desk that dug into her back. Her ears were ringing, and her sight was completely disorientated. The windows were shattered and smoke was curling into the room, making it feel even smaller than it was before. Clarke didn't even register the feeling of the broken glass cut her palms or crunch under her feet as she struggled to stand up.

Shaking her head once again, Clarke looked around, desperately trying to find her phone. The smoke was gathering at an alarming rate, almost as fast as her beating her heart, and, as she took a step backwards, she tripped over something.

A body. A girl whose name Clarke couldn't remember for the life of her. At first, she thought that maybe she had just been knocked out, but, as she gave her a look over and checked her vitals, she felt her heart skip a beat. She'd had enough training at the fire station to know the dead when she saw them.

Dead. A girl was dead, right now, right here, in detention. A large shard of some sort of metal had found its way into her chest, spilling her dark blood over the front of her snow-white shirt.

Clarke stood up fast, knowing she had to clear her mind of everything except finding her phone and getting to safety. She kept shuffling through the wreckage, looking for that fucking phone so she could fucking call 911 and find out what the fuck was happening.

She didn't even notice him calling her name until he physically dragged her towards the now-gaping hole in the wall and pulled her outside and away from the smoke-filled buildings.

"Clarke. Clarke! Goddammit, Griffin, we have to get out of here!" It was Bellamy—of course it was—who held her at arms length, trying to get her to respond.

"We have to call for help," was Clarke's reply. She was still fixated on protocol, knowing that it would only take the fire squad four and a half minutes to reach the school.

"The line's dead," said a panicked voice to her right, and Clarke turned, only to be met with five other frightened faces.

That's what snapped Clarke out of it, the ringing in her ear finally subsiding.

She marched over to the boy, whose name was Sterling, and she held her hand out for the phone to see for herself. Sure enough, there was nothing on the other end, indicating that the line was, in fact, dead.

Clarke racked her mind for a reason why the fire station's line would be dead when two fires were raging right behind them, but she couldn't come up with a single one. All she knew was that it couldn't be good. Something was happening—something terrible.

Clarke faced the other students. "Call your parents. Call anyone you can. We need to see what the hell's going on. We're heading into town, and we need to get help. Come on,"she ordered them, and began leading them away from the fire and down the hill towards Arkenson's Main Street, looking for someone—anyone.

"Griffin, wait," a gruff voice spoke near her ear.

She turned left to face Bellamy. "What?" she asked cautiously.

He looked down towards Main Street, eyes narrowing. His next words were slow and quiet, meant only for her. "Maybe it's not the best thing to do, march right down into town. I mean, look, the school's on a hill. Anyone around would have seen it by now, or at least would have heard the explosion. And the fire station's line is dead? Something's not right. I'm not going down there." He moved back from her, shaking his head. "Don't go down there."

Clarke stopped in her tracks. Normally, she would have argued with him, telling him that he didn't always know best, that they had to get help right away, that they had to find _someone. _But…he was right. The whole situation was more than bizarre, it was best that they keep on their toes, to watch before barreling in. God, she felt sick.

Clarke pulled back, putting a hand out to let the rest know to stop. "Alright, okay we'll just-we'll just…" She trailed off, looking behind her at the burning buildings, her words died in her mouth, her heart fell as she turned back to the town, silent except for a piercing scream.

Bellamy looked over at her, his face mirroring her own. They locked eyes.

"Octavia."


End file.
